


Momentary Oblivion

by bek_48



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cheating, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:27:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25771342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bek_48/pseuds/bek_48
Summary: Hermione Granger’s wedding ceremony is gorgeous. It’s the social event of the season. Everyone is there - their families, closest friends, farthest friends, workplace acquaintances, celebrities, reporters for every newspaper and magazine. The groom’s mother is beaming proudly.If anyone notices the bride disappearing for nearly half an hour after the ceremony and returning looking harried with her makeup smudged, nobody comments on it.
Relationships: Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 47
Kudos: 282





	Momentary Oblivion

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: don't own anything  
> Warnings: a lot of cheating, cursing, descriptive sexual interactions - one sequence of which borderlines on dubious, and some ableist language

Hermione Granger’s wedding ceremony is gorgeous. It’s the social event of the season. Everyone is there - their families, closest friends, farthest friends, workplace acquaintances, celebrities, reporters for every newspaper and magazine. The groom’s mother is beaming proudly.

If anyone notices that the bride’s smile seems tight and doesn’t quite reach her eyes, nobody comments on it.

The ceremony is more extravagant than she had wanted, but she tight-smiles her way through it. Everyone agrees that the bride looks beautiful, although her dress is somewhat simple and plain.

If anyone notices how exhausted she seems, as if she hasn’t slept properly in years, nobody comments on it.

The ceremony is beautiful. There are charmed birds and balloons aplenty. Their vows are simple and sweet. When the ‘kiss the bride’ moment arrives, everyone cheers and she feels cold when his lips touch hers chastely.

If anyone notices the bride disappearing for nearly half an hour after the ceremony and returning looking harried with her makeup smudged, nobody comments on it.

Her new husband frowns slightly and looks at her closely.

The celebration continues. She smiles at him almost daringly, and as she watches his face turn pale she thinks -  _ good _ .

She had warned him, after all.

________________

The first time she lets him fuck her, she’s drunk (but so is he) and exhausted (and so is he) and she wants the world to leave her alone (and so does he).

She has seen him over the years, of course, usually mucking about at the ministry pretending that he is a changed man. Sometimes she watches him simper and smile, though his eyes stay cold and she thinks -  _ I know you.  _ Never before has she seen him in muggle clothes, drunk and looking as tired as she feels.

“What are  _ you _ doing here?” she finally asks him accusingly, after silently watching each other drink from across the bar for some time.

“Getting drunk,” he replies with a lopsided smirk, and clearly he had been working hard at doing so.

“This is a  _ muggle _ bar,” she insists, voice low. “What are you doing  _ here _ ?”

He shrugs. “I can get pissed anywhere, Granger. Why are  _ you _ here? And alone? Bored of Weasley, are you?”

She glares at him violently, certainly not wanting to discuss her reasons for drinking alone or her boyfriend with a man like  _ him _ . She comes here all the time -  _ he _ is the one who is encroaching on her territory. “Same reason as you,” she admits cautiously. “I’m here to get drunk.”

He observes her closely and she straightens under his gaze, as if she is rising to an unspoken challenge. She wonders what he sees when he looks at her - what tale do her tired eyes tell him?

“Well,” he drawls slowly, smirk widening into a Cheshire grin. “I can help you with that.”

He motions the bartender over and orders them shots of something expensive (as if that would impress her!), and after another round, and then another, he gets more talkative. Soon enough, small talk about how she still doesn’t care for it but does watch a bit of quidditch seems irrelevant and boring, and he moves onto more serious topics.

“You’re ruining my plan, you know,” he insists with tired eyes, gazing at her intently. “I come to shithole muggle pubs like this to  _ escape _ . Nobody  _ knows _ me here, or what I’ve done. Nobody glares at me or judges me. Nobody except for  _ you _ .”

She looks at him seriously. He has annoyingly beautiful eyes, and she hates him. “What if I told you that I come here to escape too?”

He scoffs. “Escape from what? Your impeccable good standing in the wizarding community, Miss War Heroine? Or your idiot boyfriend?”

“Escape from  _ everything _ ,” she sighs tiredly, somewhat drunk and not quite sure how to coherently express her reasons. For a moment as he regards her thoughtfully, she surely still hates him but she feels like they are kindred souls.

“You’re still with Weasley?”

She stares at him pointedly. “Do you really care?”

He shrugs, arm bumping against hers on the bar.

“He...asked me to move in with him.” She can hear herself cringe.

“Are you going to?”

“I don’t know.”

“Ah, a romance for the ages. You sound awfully excited about the prospect.” His leg brushes against hers.

“Let’s not talk about that anymore.”

“Well, what shall we talk about?” 

“Maybe we don’t have to talk about anything at all.”

When they drunkenly stumble outside to the back alley together and he presses her up against the wall, she focuses on the feel of his hands on her hips, his mouth aggressive on hers, his fingers sliding inside her, and nothing else matters except a temporary oblivion.

He shoves her pants down and roughly pushes into her - she  _ gasps _ at the intrusion but this is not about romance for either of them. She tangles her hand in his hair and yanks  _ hard _ as he grunts and thrusts upwards and into her, her back rubbing harshly against the brick wall.

“You’re a fucking  _ slag _ , aren’t you,” he growls in her ear.

She groans and rocks her hips against him. She wraps her legs around his waist and pulls him closer, desperately searching for that fleeting oblivion.

When it’s over, just for a moment he lingers and stares into her eyes, still buried to the hilt inside of her. He almost looks like he wants to  _ talk _ (about why it happened? or hurl an insult, more likely), so she presses her lips to his once to shut him up, then shoves him away, sighing at the abrupt exit.

She can feel him leaking out of her.

“Goodbye, Malfoy. And - thanks.” She stalks off into the night, sated and hating herself and feeling his eyes watching her leave. She thinks that maybe she should have left him with a warning not to tell anyone about what happened and that it was never going to happen again, but can’t really bring herself to care that much.

________________

She can’t sleep, but that is nothing new. Sleep is an exercise in frustration, ruined by waking at odd hours with her mind unstoppably plotting her day, or her painful memories rushing too close to the surface. Sometimes she awakens with a scream. Sometimes the alcohol helps, sometimes a sleeping draught, but nothing is ever consistent.

She resolves that the Malfoy incident was a one time experiment to see if mindlessly fucking her old enemy would help her regain her bearings in the world, but somehow he forces his way into her tightly knit existence.

She might have predicted it, what with her current job being working to repeal ancient pro-pureblood laws. It was inevitable that it would bring her into contact with various pureblooded heirs. She doesn’t exactly volunteer to meet with him to discuss legislation, but she certainly doesn’t refuse the opportunity when it arises.

He meets with her in his London office and politely serves her a firewhiskey on the rocks before laughing in her face about her ambition (“Careful, Granger, it’s as though you  _ want _ to make some powerful enemies”) and moving on to more personal topics, as she had hoped he would.

“Did you tell Weasley what you did?” he asks with a slight sneer.

She wonders if he gets off on her guilt and scowls at him. “What  _ we _ did, and no. It was a one-time mistake. And he’ll never know about it, understand?”

He leans back in his chair, always smiling at her with a hard glint in his eyes. “What’s in it for me if I keep quiet?”

“Blackmail, then?” she scoffs. “Fuck off, Malfoy.”

“No, not blackmail, not really. You came here for a reason, Granger. You should tell him, but fear not, I’ll keep quiet about our...one-time mistake.”

Something hot in her belly curls when he looks at her. She finishes her whiskey and glares at him challengingly.

He smirks with confidence as he pours her another drink and soon enough she is bent over his desk getting roughly fucked from behind. He pulls her hair and lifts her head up and tears spring to her eyes, but he leans in and whispers awful things.

_ “ _ You really  _ are _ a slut, aren’t you.” “Weasley doesn’t fuck you like this, does he? Doesn’t treat you the way you  _ deserve _ to be treated?” “I’m going to shove my cock down your throat while he watches, would you like that, you filthy  _ whore _ ?”

She thinks maybe she  _ would _ like that and something is  _ wrong _ with her. She groans and twists against him and his hands are rough and he fills her so completely and she knows she’ll have bruises when they’re done but she doesn’t care. She just  _ feels _ .

When he comes inside her he grunts and leans forward, chest heavy and slick with sweat on top of her back, and he grasps her hand. He stays like that for a moment and they breathe together.

“Going to tell Weasley?” he whispers into her ear, breath ghosting against her skin.

“Fuck you,” she insists, forcing herself up and shoving him off of her.

He laughs scornfully. “Happy to oblige, Granger. I never would have expected it, but you really are a disaster, you know that?”

She knows that and she has several theories about why and she is furious at him for dragging her back from her momentarily oblivion. 

When she arrives at her flat, Ron is in the middle of a tragic attempt at making dinner. He smiles at her lightly, gesturing to the meal he is excessively proud of himself for cooking.

It tastes like chalk in her mouth.

Her stomach curdles when he leans in to kiss her and she hates herself for doing this to him.

“I’m - so sorry, Ron. It’s been a long day. I think I might just go to sleep early.”

He looks crestfallen but nods in understanding. He kisses her gently on the lips and she wonders if he can taste her sins.

________________

The third time it happens, she thinks she really does have a problem on her hands and it is on the verge of becoming a horrifying habit.

They are at Ron’s favorite pub in Diagon Alley with Harry and Ginny. She has long suspected it’s his favorite because of how recognized they are. Enthusiastic fans of the wizarding war heroes happily buy them drinks and Ron likes to regale them with war stories while Harry smiles sheepishly and she tries to block out the memories.

“Oy, what are  _ they _ doing here?” Ron grumbles angrily, beer sloshing out of his pint glass.

She follows his gaze across the crowded pub towards a table nearby and her heart slams in her chest as she observes the occupants. Some old Slytherin classmates, including-

_ Malfoy _ . 

The stupid idiot. She knows  _ exactly _ what he’s doing here. 

Harry shrugs with a laugh. “Oh come off it, Ron. The war’s over, isn’t it?”

Ron continues to scowl.

She excuses herself and pointedly glares at Malfoy on her way to the loo. She doesn’t need to glance back at him to know that a smirk is plastered on his face.

She hardly has to wait a moment before he follows her in, locking the door behind him.

She wants to slap the stupid smirk right off his face.

“ _ What _ are you doing here?” she snaps.

He raises an eyebrow at her. “I assumed from your withering glare that you wanted me to follow you - and to fuck you.”

“Not  _ here _ ,” she gestures wildly around the bathroom. “Here, at the same pub you  _ know _ I always come to with Ron to watch the quidditch matches.”

He shrugs his shoulders languidly. “Same reason, I suppose - to fuck you.”

“You can’t be serious,” she huffs angrily.

He takes a step closer and she can tell from the hungry look in his eyes that he is absolutely serious. She feels her pulse quicken as he closes in. 

“Deadly serious,” he whispers against her cheek, one hand firmly grasping her waist and one eyebrow raised in an unspoken question.

She hesitates for only a moment before leaning in and deciding that she hates herself enough to do this. “Do it quickly.”

“You’re fucking crazy, did you know that?” He lifts her skirt and shoves a finger inside of her and she is already soaked. 

She slides her hands under his shirt and rakes her nails down his back, and he hisses.

“You  _ wanted _ me to come here, didn’t you? You wanted me to come fuck you and you want your daft idiot of a boyfriend to catch you, don’t you?”

He squeezes her breast hard and she squirms.

“Want him to see you as you  _ truly are _ , moaning like a whore with my cock buried inside you.”

“Don’t talk about him,” she snaps, shifting her hips against him. “Just shut up and fuck me.”

He spins her around roughly and shoves her down on the counter. He lifts her chin and forces her to look in the mirror and his gaze is intense, eyes never leaving hers. He shoves himself inside of her with a grunt and pauses, watching her closely.

“What do you want me to do?” he whispers in her ear, eyes glinting and lusty and focused.

“Shut up.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to  _ shut up and fuck me _ .”

He growls in her ear and obliges. His thrusts are hard and uncaring and her hips are digging into the counter and it  _ feels _ and she almost cries out but he slaps a hand over her mouth and she focuses on his steely eyes in the mirror.

“This is what you want, huh?” he snarls as he pounds into her roughly. “You want to  _ suffer _ , don’t you? Your  _ boyfriend _ wants to make sweet love to you, doesn’t he, and you just want to take it from me like - A. Fucking. Whore.” He accentuates his words with hard thrusts, and she has never come so hard in her life, breath hot against his palm as she falls apart shaking in his grasp.

She hates him, but she hates herself more.

After another hard thrust he groans above her and finally breaks eye contact as his eyes squeeze shut, head dropping down to rest on her back.

“You really ought to tell Weasley,” he advises after a moment, sated and still inside of her.

“Shut up,” she whispers again, because she knows that already and doesn’t need advice from  _ him. _

He sighs heavily and pulls out of her. “I’m the Other Man at this point Granger, and I’ll have you know I don’t much care for it.”

“It’s - not like that.”

“You don’t think so?”

He adjusts his pants with a smirk and departs.

She starts to fix her hair and makeup and decides partway through that she doesn’t really care that much. When she returns to the table, Ron is still intently watching the quidditch match. Harry eyes her narrowly, glancing at Malfoy’s table and back to her, and she hopes he doesn’t see her blush. Malfoy doesn’t so much as look at her again.

________________

Ron kisses her gently in bed. “I love you, you know,” he whispers.

“I know.” Her heart aches and she thinks she needs to prove a point. She’s not sure what point, and she’s not sure to who, but she needs to. “Ron…” she hesitates. “Can we…”

She can feel him smile against her cheek. “Make love?” he supplies, and she cringes.

“I - I was thinking, maybe, could you just... _ fuck _ me?”

He pauses, gently caressing her shoulder and she wants to die. “Of course, I’ll do whatever you want me to do,” he whispers, kissing her lightly.

He makes love to her sweetly and it’s perfect and and it’s everything she should want and he doesn’t call her a whore and he doesn’t make her ache and she doesn’t come and she hates him and she hates Malfoy and she hates herself.

________________

She loses track of the number of times, eventually. She wonders if she still hates him. She thinks so, but sometimes she finds herself almost looking forward to seeing him.

When he comes to her office and sits in her chair while she rides his cock and screws her eyes shut, he grasps her loosely by the throat. “Why me,” he groans, hips jerking up to meet her. “Why me?”

“I don’t know,” she whispers.

“Liar. Tell me.”

She makes a gasping sound as he thrusts into her and his grip tightens on her throat. 

“Tell me, you whore. Why me?”

“Because you hate me,” she snaps.

He pauses in his gyrations and stares at her, mouth agape. “You’re crazy, Granger.”

She shifts her hips, annoyed. “Please, just...shut up, okay?”

He glares at her, lifting her up and laying her down on her desk, still inside her. “Fine. I  _ hate _ you,” he agrees with a rough thrust, eyes hardening. “I  _ fucking hate you _ , and I’ve always hated you - you’re an insufferable filthy Mudblood and I’m Death Easter scum and I’ll never change, I’m trapped and you’re  _ just like me _ .”

He squeezes her throat lightly and hits that sensitive spot inside her and she shudders.

He avoids her for nearly a week after that, and she begrudgingly admits to herself that she sort of misses him and would almost maybe be a little sad to never see him again. But of course, like a moth to her destructive flame, he comes back.

________________

At some point, Ron and Malfoy strike up an unusual kind of almost-friendship - well, not really a friendship, more like a tentative thawing in their mutual dislike - and she is  _ furious _ . 

Like a complete wanker with a death wish, Malfoy continues to stalk her on her Sunday morning quidditch watching with Ron. Who would ever have guessed that one casual compliment about the Chudley Cannons while waiting for a pint could have convinced Ron to forgive Malfoy an abundance of wrongs.

He chats with Harry often, and quietly, about work. Some new group of Death Eaters is on the rise. He makes small talk about the quidditch season with Ron. He rarely acknowledges her presence there. She often glares at him. They don’t fuck in the bathroom again, but more than once he maneuvers himself to sit by her and roughly fingers her under the table while she tries to keep an impassive face and poor Ron enthusiastically watches quidditch.

Sometimes Ron and Harry agree that he seems like he is changing for the better, and they even try to convince her to _be nice_ _to him_ and _try to get along with him_ and _at least stop glaring at him_. She scoffs because she knows the truth, she _knows him_ and she knows that she is dwelling in the darkness with him.

“Well, you’ve been working with him quite a lot on the law repeals. He’s still a bit of a git, but do you really think he’s the same old arse from school?”

She nods (two lies at once) and is ashamed that Ron continues to believe anything she says.

________________

Eventually, Malfoy gets himself a girlfriend. She is Pureblooded, and kind, and pretty, and her name is Astoria, and Hermione hates her.

The girl smiles and simpers and is perfectly sweet and innocent and doesn’t have the stains and the horrific scars of the war.

He brings her around to watch quidditch with the boys, and they are charmed by her.

“So, tell me the story of how you and Ron got together. Everyone talks about you, you know! There are even articles in Witch Weekly. And they want to know when you’re getting  _ married _ !” the girl smiles with stars in her eyes, and Hermione pales.

“Sooner rather than later, I hope!” laughs Ron, playfully squeezing her arm before launching into the story of his heroism at the Battle of Hogwarts and how he finally won her affections. The girl gasps in all the right places and is the perfect audience.

She sees Malfoy chatting quietly with Harry away from the table, but he is watching her intently, so she has to make polite small talk with the girl. Astoria is even nice to  _ her _ , and she is not sure what to do about it, but continuing to fuck Malfoy is probably not the right answer.

“I’ll always think he’s a bit of a git,” insists Ron later. “And I’ve no idea what she sees in him, but she’s sweet. She’s sort of making him better, isn’t she? Seems like it, anyway.”

Hermione scowls darkly.

“You really need to change up your routines,” Malfoy insists to her one night at the pub. “You’re too predictable. You leave for work at the same time every day, you get groceries every Saturday at the same place, and you come to this bloody pub and get pissed by yourself every Friday.”

“Not always by myself,” she reminds him with a tired grimace. They are several drinks in, and she knows that the morning will be a struggle. “If I don’t come to this pub every Friday, how will you find me? You  _ like  _ knowing where I am. Tell me, does your pretty little girlfriend know that you’re here with me?” 

“Don’t be petty, Granger. It doesn’t suit you. She’s a good girl.”

She cringes at that. If Astoria is the good one, then who is she? She clearly isn’t good - she used to be, back when it mattered, but she’s not anymore - so  _ what _ is she?

“You’re the one who’s half-Weasley already,” he continues, eyes hardening. “One day he’s going to propose and you’re going to say yes because that’s what everyone expects from you and you’re too scared to run away, aren’t you?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Nor you, mine.”

She lets out a bitter laugh. “What, are you inviting me to run away with you? Would we take a tour of all the filthiest pubs across Europe? Be  _ serious _ .”

“I’m always serious.”

She is disconcerted at the intensity in his voice. “You’re ridiculous. I can’t just  _ leave _ .”

“Yes, why would you want to leave? After all, you have a boyfriend who you don’t love, a job that you’re bored by, and a flat that I’ve never seen but I can only assume is small and ratty.”

“My flat is  _ fine, _ my job is  _ fine, _ and I  _ do _ love Ron,” she snaps and they both know that she is lying. “Besides,  _ you’re _ the one getting chummy with him about quidditch. Tell me why.”

He shrugs. “I like talking about quidditch. Besides, would you believe me if I said it was to see you more?”

She glares at him. “That’s awful. And Astoria? Don’t tell me you brought her around to make me  _ jealous _ .”

“That’s better, Granger! You’re not being petty anymore, now you’re back to being arrogant. I like you better this way, you know.”

“Like me, do you?”

His smile is predatorial. “Sometimes.”

“No, I don’t think you do like me. I think you just like  _ fucking  _ me. Does she let you fuck her? She doesn’t seem the sort. Do you  _ make love _ to her then?”

He laughs harshly. “You really  _ are _ jealous, aren’t you, how adorable.”

“Fuck you, Malfoy.”

“Happy to oblige.” He downs his drink in one gulp and grabs her wrist, nearly dragging her out to the alley ( _ their alley _ ) and shoves her against the wall. He grasps her throat while he fucks her hard enough that she forgets to breathe and she forgets what questions were asked and she forgets if they were arguing or if he is the only person in the world who understands her and doesn’t hate the ugliness she feels inside.

He grunts heavily and kisses her deeply when he comes.

After catching his breath for a few moments, he watches her closely, face drawn tight. “I don’t think I want to do this anymore.”

She almost laughs at the absurdity, as he is quite literally freshly fucked and buried inside of her. His cock is still in the process of softening. “You picked an odd time to come to such a decision.”

“Yes, well, better late than never.”

“Is it because of her?”

He pulls out of her with a slight groan. “It’s because of  _ you _ , Granger. It’s always because of you.”

She leans heavily against the wall as he strides away and ponders what he meant by that. She knows he didn’t mean that it’s  _ over _ .

It couldn’t just be  _ over _ .

________________

Ron proposes to her on a Thursday. She had cooked dinner (he gave up on the practice rather quickly, insisting that she was just better at cooking than he could ever be) and they are sitting at the table, and out of the blue he just smiles and says they should get married.

At her wide-eyed panic, he amends it to proposing that he might propose sometime and that he loves her and she is  _ the one _ for him. She can take her time to think about it, of course, but just imagine what the ceremony would look like and who would attend and his mother would be  _ so _ excited and they could have children and they would go to Hogwarts with Harry and Ginny’s kids and-

She mumbles something about how she needs to think about it and excuses herself.

On Friday evening, she goes to the pub ( _ their pub _ ) and proceeds to get completely obliterated and she waits for Malfoy to come and distract her but he never shows.

Ron never judges her out loud for her little solo outings, never to her face at least, and his gentle nursing of her through her hangover makes her feel worse than ever.

Why hadn’t he come?

He couldn’t have meant that it was over, not really. She vomits into the toilet and Ron gently rubs her shoulder.

When she sees him for quidditch the next day, he is politely indifferent when he greets her and he wraps his arm around his girlfriend, but there is fire in his eyes and she has never hated him more.

________________

The way Blaise Zabini stares at her makes her decidedly uncomfortable. Her hands are chafing against their bonds and he is watching her hungrily.

She is a little embarrassed at how easily they captured her. It had certainly been to their advantage that she had been somewhat drunk at the time, and for a moment she bitterly thinks that if Malfoy had been there at the bloody pub with her then she might not be in this predicament.

“I always wanted to  _ shut her up _ in class,” he explains to another former Slytherin she recognizes as Marcus Flint. “I had so many ideas about what to do to that Mudblood mouth of hers.”

She remembers Zabini as having been rather sullen and arrogant as a classmate, but the aggressive malevolence and the sexual overtones come as somewhat of a shock.

Flint grins toothily and makes a vulgar comment about showing her her place, and she is quite sure she is going to get raped and murdered in some order before the night is done. The last time she had felt so helpless, she was writhing on the floor in her own piss and agony in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor.

She is trying to sort out how she feels about that (she gets as far as concluding that existing has felt rather exhausting lately anyway) when she hears his voice.

“Get in line, you wankers,” Malfoy snaps coldly, angling to be the first one in the growing list of her rapists. “You know how much I’ve had to suffer because of her and her lot.”

There is only a brief moment when she wonders - had he followed her into the pub all that time ago in order to orchestrate this moment? Had it all been part of some evil scheme? He hated her then, didn't he, but did he really still hate her?

Her doubt lasts only a moment before the answer slams into her head with a jolt, and she thinks she may survive this ordeal after all.

Those little clandestine discussions with Harry. The quiet warnings about her predictable routines. The subtle nervous clenching of his fist as he stares at her with cold eyes and she is sure he is occluding because he can’t really hate her enough to be calm about this.

He is working with Harry to take down this little group of Death Eater revivalists from the inside, he  _ has _ to be.

Zabini glares at Malfoy, who saunters towards her, eyes cold and emotionless.

“Did you miss me, Mudblood?” he asks menacingly, and she knows he is acting but her blood runs cold.

He watches her for a moment, saying nothing, and she doesn’t respond.

“Get on with it already, Malfoy, or let me have a go,” snaps Zabini, still watching her with those hungry eyes and she is back to being quite sure that she will be raped and murdered and strung up somewhere as a lesson to muggle-borns everywhere not to try to  _ change things _ and Malfoy will be unable to stop it and a shudder wracks her body.

He takes another step towards her. He rears back his hand and slaps her across the face - it’s loud, but not hard, so she exaggerates the impact and lets out a whimper. It’s a play - it’s just a play and she is the leading lady.

“Well?”

“Fuck you, Malfoy,” she spits, putting as much venom into the words as she can muster.

Zabini is watching them closely.

“Happy to oblige,” he offers, as he often does and oh god her hands are shaking and she is  _ scared _ and she thinks that maybe she would actually like to not get murdered today because then she would never hear his voice or feel his lips on hers again.

He steps forward and grabs her hair, throwing her to the ground - and this scene she is prepared for, they’ve rehearsed it so many times.

“You filthy Mudblood  _ whore,”  _ he growls loudly enough for the other men to hear, and in a moment he is on top of her lifting her skirt above her waist and pulling her knickers down. 

He at least had the foresight to position her such that Zabini would not get an eyeful of her ass.

When he sticks his finger inside her she is not as dry as she would have expected and maybe if she survives this she should try therapy? Or at least have herself a few stiff drinks and a good cry.

She sobs a little, playing her part. “Please - don’t do this-“

She gasps as his hand comes down swiftly on her ass with a resounding  _ smack _ and she glares at him over her shoulder. 

“You really need to be taught your place, Mudblood. On all fours is a good start, but I would recommend shutting your mouth, lest I think of a creative way to shut it for you.”

She hears Flint snigger from across the room.

His hand (gently) massages the area where he hit her and she shudders. If they survive this then she might ask him to do this again some day, when she has a lower likelihood of getting murdered. She really  _ is _ a disaster.

He positions himself behind her and she screws her eyes shut and thinks about how they have never fucked in an actual bed before, and she kind of wants to do that, and she wonders what it would be like to make love instead, and she wonders if he has ever wondered the same thing, and maybe he really did mean it when he talked about running away together.

He enters with a groan and she cries out, wanting to grasp his hand.

He leans in close and starts to whisper quietly, so very quietly, in her ear as he begins to thrust.

“Potter will be here soon, okay?” “I’m not going to let them touch you.” “I’ll fucking kill them first.” “The aurors are coming, I promise.” “They’ll never lay a hand on you, you’re  _ mine _ .”

She focuses on his voice. She has so much practice at shutting the world out and only feeling  _ him _ that for a moment she can almost feel that familiar oblivion, and she can almost forget that he’s fucking her in a grimy basement and her hands are tied and his awful old school chums are watching.

She shuts her eyes to avoid seeing Zabini’s lusty ogling, and she sobs heavily, trying not to twist her hips and squirm.

“Hey, what was that noise?” she hears Flint ask distantly.

Malfoy pulls out of her quickly and she feels empty.

She has enough time to readjust her skirt before her rescuers arrive.

Flint gets taken out quickly by a stunner from Harry as the aurors rush in, and Zabini falls wide-eyed to a furious Malfoy.

Ron nearly weeps when he takes her into his arms and makes sure she is okay. She rests her head against his chest for a moment and shivers, sure that her eyes are red-rimmed and she wonders if Malfoy is watching them.

“I’m going to kill you, Malfoy,” growls the partially paralyzed Zabini threateningly from somewhere off to the side. “Mark my words, you bastard, you’re a dead man.”

Ron cuddles with her closely that night. When he proposes marriage again, she is too tired to say no and she lies awake for hours.

The Prophet article about her engagement is very sweet. The entire wizarding world, it seems, has been waiting for the two war heroes to make it official. It contains only a brief mention about her kidnapping and almost-murder.

The next night, she slips away from Ron and gets drunk at the pub and cries a little and maybe wants to just be alone but of course Malfoy shows up with a scowl on his face.

“I read the paper.”

She sighs heavily into her drink. “Oh?”

“You’re  _ fucked _ now, Granger. But at least your wedding will be the event of the fucking season, eh?”

A tear rolls down her face and she is just  _ so tired _ , so she leans into him for a moment in something that is almost an embrace. “You saved me,” she whispers quietly.

He levels her with a stare and she gazes into his eyes, and for a moment she sees it -  _ gentleness _ . The kind of despairing gentleness that makes her wonder what loving him would be like in another world.

But she’s engaged now, and she is living a lie and she hates herself and she doesn’t want gentleness, so she backs away and pushes his buttons the way she knows how to do so well until he drags her out of the pub. As if he read her mind, he pulls her pants down and slaps her hard on the ass, and when he looks at her with a smirk (because he  _ gets _ her), she nods and he slaps her again and again until she’s sure to be black and blue.

“Tell me you won’t marry him.”  _ Slap. _

“He won’t fuck you like I do.”  _ Slap. _

“You’ll hate him and you’ll hate yourself.”  _ Slap. _

“Fuck you, Malfoy-”  _ Slap. _

“You’re  _ mine _ ,” he growls with an emphatic smack before grasping her hips and roughly entering her.

She groans at the harshness and wishes it could hurt even more.

“You can’t marry him,” he insists as he fucks her harder. “You can’t, you  _ can’t _ , you’re  _ mine _ .”

She is and she knows it, but she can’t be.

She doesn’t bother to heal the bruising and for the rest of the week she smiles as she feels it sting whenever she sits down.

________________

At some point, she realizes she has been sleeping with Malfoy (well -  _ fucking _ Malfoy, as there has been no sleeping involved whatsoever) for two years. She idly wonders about the proper etiquette for what anniversary gift to give one’s partner in sin.

They haven’t exactly been subtle, nearly eye fucking each other in public in front of their respective partners and friends. She is sure that Harry knows and equally sure that Ron  _ should _ know, but doesn’t. Astoria is still polite and pleasant and lovely.

Harry doesn't confront her directly. “Hermione...are you - okay?”

“I’m fine,” she lies smoothly, dying inside.

“You’re - happy?”

“As happy as I’ll ever be.”  _ As happy as I deserve to be. _

He regards her seriously, green eyes shining bright and earnest. “If you need someone to talk to - about anything, really - you know I’m here for you, right?”

She doesn’t know how to explain any of it to him. Harry and Ron managed to survive the horrors of being teenagers fighting in a war, while she is the only one of them still dwelling in the darkness of it all. They’re  _ fine _ , and she wants to be and she should be smart enough to just move on but she  _ can’t _ .

She refuses to set a wedding date, and her sex life with Ron borders on non-existant. She is snappish with him while he is passive aggressive with her. He  _ still _ can’t cook a proper meal and she smells like Malfoy’s cologne, and she wonders why he would even  _ want _ to marry her at this point.

But she knows why he does, and she knows why she stays. It’s what they’re supposed to do.

Ron cheats on her, once. He admits it to her shortly before they are to attend a charity event at Malfoy Manor, which the man himself had invited them to.

“I’m so sorry,” he sobs, telling a tale about some secretary from the auror office. “It’s just - you’ve been so busy with work, and - well, you’re tired all the time, you know? I - I fucked up. I’m so sorry, it will  _ never _ happen again, I promise.”

She sighs indifferently, thinking that her future speech to him about her own cheating will be much more eloquent. He doesn’t deserve to feel guilty, especially because she is carrying more than enough guilt to sink the both of them, so she forgives him easily.

He rushes forward to hug her. “I don’t deserve you. I love you  _ so _ much, Hermione.”

As she prepares for the gala, she thinks that her entire life is just like the layer upon layer of makeup covering the blemishes on her face and hiding the exhausted eyes from the world, and only one person sees through the veneer to the ugliness behind her mask.

It is her first time back at Malfoy Manor since that night so many years ago.

She can feel his eyes raking over her from across the room and for a moment she imagines what it would be like to be with him. She would be the Lady of the Manor, stalking through the corridors getting jeered at by portraits. She would never see Harry, Ginny or Ron again, or anyone from the Weasley family, as they would not be able to forgive her for  _ this _ , not really. Or maybe he would be disowned by his parents, and he would finally be able to live the vagabond life that he often dreams about and he would take her with him across the world.

She feels Astoria’s eyes following her boyfriend’s gaze to her from across the room, and her guilt bubbles inside of her until she feels ready to burst.

She hadn’t planned on it, but partway through the event while most of the guests are mingling, she escapes to the drawing room. It is largely the same as she remembers. The chandelier had been restored to its original location. She remembers staring up at it while her body spasmed uncontrollably and thinking about how the light refracted across the room, and if only she could muster up the will to insult Bellatrix one time the witch might happily put her out of her misery.

Her muscles still twitch sometimes, unpredictably. There is no trigger that she can identify, but sometimes her body just spontaneously  _ remembers _ .

Footsteps approach from behind her and she doesn’t have to turn around to know it’s him. 

She stares at the spot where she had lain and shudders, wondering how much of what happened that night can be blamed for the disaster of her life today. Not all of it, she thinks, but certainly some.

“I dream about that night,” she says quietly, shivering. “All the time. I can never sleep. I haven’t really slept in years.”

He takes a step closer. “I dream about it too, but in my dreams I  _ do _ something.”

“I remember your face. You looked scared, and sad.”

“I  _ was _ scared, and sad, and angry. I thought I’d hated you, but I couldn’t remember why.”

“We were all so young,” she whispers. She shuts her eyes and hears her own screams and feels her own helplessness. “We were  _ so _ young.”

He takes another step closer and rests his hand on the small of her back.

She whimpers quietly, thinking that if he really wants to fuck her in the exact spot where he watched her get tortured all those years ago, it would be the most fucked up thing he could do to her, but she would probably let him do it.

“I...not here, please Draco,” she protests feebly with a hiccup.

His hand moves from the small of her back up to her shoulder, and he pulls her into a strong embrace. When he makes no further movements, she allows herself to relax in his grasp and her body heaves in one loud sob. He holds her gently, rubbing circles into her shoulder comfortingly and she distantly hopes her makeup isn’t wearing off on his dress robes.

He holds her until her sobbing slows, and she feels completely drained. He stays there with her until they hear some approaching party goers and hastily tear apart from each other. It wouldn’t do to have their embrace gossiped about in polite society or publicized in the paper, after all.

She wants him to bring her upstairs to his room and she wants to make love on his bed with his party guests none the wiser, but after a beat he returns to his lovely girlfriend and she to her fiancé.

Astoria watches her with an intense frown.

That night, Ron comments on the event. He had fun and he is a little tipsy and  _ happy _ because she forgave him and she feels cold inside.

“It was a fun night,” he enthuses with a smile, gently taking her by the hand. “You look so beautiful. I love you so much.”

“I had an awful time,” she admits shakily, watching his smile fade. “I spent most of the night staring at the spot on the floor in the drawing room where I was  _ tortured _ . Remember?”

He stares at her heavily for a moment, eyes clouding as his hands fall back to his side. They never talk about it - the war, the fighting, the scars, the death. None of the awful things that haunt her nightmares. Good triumphed over evil, they  _ won _ , why should they dwell on the past? They’re  _ heroes _ . They get to strut around and smile and celebrate and be happy and have strangers buy them pints at the bars for being the good guys.

“Well - the treacle pudding was delicious. Did you try some? It might’ve made you feel better.”

________________

She finds him in his study.

She is furious at Ron for being oblivious, and furious at  _ him _ for being so gentle with her, and she doesn’t want to be comforted - she wants to  _ hurt _ .

He quirks an eyebrow at her when she arrives at the Manor during her lunch break. “Hungry, Granger?”

“Famished,” she breathes, eyeing him fervidly and stepping closer.

“This is an awful idea,” he observes, though he doesn’t push her away when she steps around his desk to sit on his lap. “Astoria will be here soon.”

She kisses him fiercely and he battles her tongue with his and wraps a hand in her hair tightly. “I’m willing to risk it if you are.”

He hesitates for a moment and observes her closely.

It is her turn to raise an eyebrow at him as she unbuckles his belt slowly. “Unless you’re too scared?”

His grasp tightens as she releases him from his pants and slowly slides down to the ground in front of him nearly under his desk. “Stop talking and put that mouth to good use.”

She takes a hold of him the way she knows he likes, and teasingly trails her tongue along his shaft until he stiffens. He twists his hand in her hair and wrenches her gaze upwards.

She holds eye contact with him as she takes him into her mouth, and he  _ gasps _ and she smiles against his cock.

“ _ Fuck _ , Granger-”

She bobs her head up and down, twirling her tongue against him and his hips jerk against her.

“You’d better not blow Weasley like this,” he breathes. “This had better be just for me.”

She moans in agreeance around his cock, teasing him, and she can hear him gasping and shuddering and fighting the urge to stand up and fuck her mouth, and she can tell he is getting close when suddenly-

He wrenches her away from him and she can hear the approaching footsteps from the hallway. He nearly shoves her under his desk and leans forward in his chair, breathing heavily.

“Stay quiet,” he whispers, and he can’t see her glare at him.

“Draco, darling,” greets a bubbly Astoria.

Irritated by Astoria’s voice and feeling like a dirty secret hiding under the desk, she decides to be a bit evil - he  _ deserves _ it. She leans forward and her tongue darts out to the base of his still exposed and stiff cock gives it an experimental lick. His knee twitches and smacks against the desk.

“Astoria,” he greets, voice hitched and unsteady.

“Are you well? You look a bit flushed.”

Her heart is racing and  _ this is insane  _ and when she sucks lightly on the tip and he nearly jumps out of the chair.

“Fine - I’m fine. And - how are you?”

She has never heard him so discomposed before and she relishes the fact that it’s because of  _ her _ and pushes her guilt aside _. _

“Oh, quite well! I went to Flourish and Blotts with Daphne after tea. We had the loveliest time. I actually - well, remember the other day we were talking about Wakefield? I picked up her new book for you.”

She can hear the girl blush prettily at him and it annoys her so profoundly that she grabs his cock and takes it as deep as she can into her mouth from that angle.

“ _ Mmmph _ -” he coughs. “I- ah, need to finish - something. Let me meet you in the dining room - ahh - for lunch, yes?”

“Of course,” the girl's voice falters for a moment before she departs, closing the door behind her.

Malfoy leans back and drags her out from the desk by her hair, murmuring a quick silencing charm. “You’re fucking  _ crazy _ ,” he half-laughs, eyes wide and heady. “I’m tempted to punish you for that.”

“What if I like it when you punish me?”

“I  _ know _ you like it. Open your mouth.”

He stands up and shoves his cock down her throat until she chokes around him and tears spring to her eyes. She clutches his waist tightly and when he starts to fuck her mouth relentlessly she sucks him hard until she can’t breathe and he comes down her throat with a heavy grunt.

She swallows deeply and dances her tongue around him as he softens in her mouth.

He collapses into his chair in a spent heap and chuckles lightly.

“You’re going to be the death of me, Granger.”

________________

She thinks that every Weasley except for Ron has at least something of a grasp on the situation, and it is starting to feel suffocating.

Ginny watches her like a hawk at the pub on quidditch Sundays.

George pops by her flat occasionally for a spontaneous friendly visit, typically whenever Ron is not around.

Percy takes detours to stop by her office to discuss ministry matters which could have been resolved with a simple memo.

Molly takes her shopping for wedding dresses.

“White is such a  _ pure _ color, isn’t it?” she smiles, peering closely at her future daughter-in-law.

“Quite,” she agrees uncomfortably, missing her own mother terribly.

Molly wants her to wear something extravagant and beautiful.

“The wizarding world is still healing, my dear,” she insists. “They  _ need _ this wedding. It gives them hope - that’s what everyone tells me, anyway.”

She feels sick inside and chooses the blandest dress she can find.

Molly tuts judgingly beside her.

“You’ll stay at the Burrow for a time after the wedding, of course.”

She can feel herself pale considerably. 

As they prepare to depart, Molly levels her with a serious stare. “You and Ronald are meant for each other. It’s  _ destiny _ . I’m sure you know that.”

She watches the woman and nods slowly.

“I love my family. It would be a shame - such a shame - if someone tried to keep you apart. There is nothing more important than family, and we Weasleys do all we can to protect it. I’m sure you remembered what happened to the last person who threatened to hurt my family.”

She tries to steady her breathing when she remembers Bellatrix’s lifeless body collapsing to the ground, but her heart clenches in her chest. The only way to interpret the words is as a threat. If she doesn’t marry Ron, if she runs away with Malfoy - then what? They wouldn’t  _ do _ something to her, would they? Or to  _ him _ ? Surely they couldn’t. They’re supposed to be  _ good _ and on the side of  _ love. _

Molly’s eyes narrow at her lack of response.

“I’m - grateful for that, Molly,” she replies diplomatically but all she wants to do is run to him and make sure he’s okay and be with him one more time and warn him to stay away from her disaster of a life forever.

________________

It’s his birthday and she doesn’t know what to get him, so she gets herself some fancy green lingerie. He greatly approves and has her out of it in moments, and they fuck twice in his library and once more on the dining room table.

One of his ancestor’s portraits calls her a whore, and she shrugs. He’s not wrong, so she can’t exactly lodge a complaint.

“My mother wants me to propose.”

She blinks at him.

“To Astoria,” he clarifies.

“Yes, I assumed that.”

“Well, I never know with you. They always say you’re so smart, but I’ve never been so sure.”

“Shut up. Well, are you going to?”

He shrugs, still slick with sweat from their activities. “I have a feeling things will work themselves out.”

“What does  _ that _ mean?”

“Tell me, Granger - why are you still with Weasley? You’re not  _ happy _ .”

“I don’t want to talk about him.”

“Do you even have a reason? Because I think I’ve figured it out, if you’re curious.”

“Fine. Enlighten me,” she snaps.

“Because it’s  _ easy _ . You’re  _ supposed _ to be with him. It would make him happy, it would make his family happy, it would make your friends happy, it would make everyone in the fucking wizarding world happy -  _ except for you _ . And he’ll never leave you no matter what because you’re by far the best he can ever do, and he doesn’t deserve you, and he knows it.”

“I  _ would _ be happy,” she retorts half-heartedly, thinking of Molly’s veiled threats. “I  _ will _ be.”

“Then why are you here? Why do you let me fuck you six ways to Sunday? Why do this at all?”

She doesn’t know what to say, so she glares at him. “Well since you have it all figured out, why don’t you tell me? Why do you keep coming back? You have a perfect little girlfriend who loves you, and you constantly remind me that I’m a  _ disaster _ . Tell me why.”

“You really don’t know the answer to that? A massive idiot indeed, that’s what you are.”

She scoffs.

“You should be selfish for once, Granger.”

“I’m plenty selfish - come here and fuck me again.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, and this time he growls into her neck and drags his teeth heavily enough across her skin to leave a mark.

Her muscles ache in all the good ways as she stands to leave.

As she approaches the door to leave for the apparition point, the door suddenly opens and Astoria walks in.

“Oh-!” she exclaims, almost walking into the startled girl.

“Hermione?” Astoria gapes at her in surprise. “What - are you doing here?”

“I - for work,” she answers sheepishly.

Astoria looks at her closely, eyes darting to her unkempt clothes, freshly fucked hair, and most damningly, the love bite blooming bright on her neck. “It’s Draco’s birthday,” she says slowly, eyes growing wider and more horrified as she absorbs the details. “I’m here to celebrate his birthday. Why are  _ you _ here on his birthday?”

“Sorry,” she mutters, heart beating heavily in her chest as she moves past the girl and out the door. “It was - for work. I was just leaving.”

“Hermione,” the girl calls with a shaky voice, and she reluctantly turns back. “You’re engaged to an  _ actual hero _ . You couldn’t just be happy with him and stay away from Draco? What is  _ wrong _ with you?”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers again feeling a little sick, and a part of her wonders if Malfoy meant for this to happen because ‘ _ things will work themselves out _ ’ and he is even worse than she has already given him credit for.

Her stomach clenches when she imagines the girl telling everyone about her indiscretion, and her mind conjures up thoughts of a clan of Weasleys storming the Manor with wands drawn.

She reads about their breakup in the society pages and she still mostly feels awful but she cannot help but smile in relief. ‘Sources’ say the breakup is amicable and not due to infidelity by either party, and the two will surely remain good friends.

________________

The wedding is one week away. Malfoy comes by her office and she wants him to take her hard and fast against the wall, but he has other ideas.

“Come with me,” he insists. 

“I can’t just  _ leave _ .”

“You always say that,” he scoffs. “But you can  _ always  _ leave. For fuck’s sake Hermione, just come with me.”

She briefly considers what he means - come away with him forever, or just for the night? Either way, this might be her last chance. She nods hesitantly, and he takes her hand and leads her out of her office.

When they get to Malfoy Manor, he serves her dinner properly. She tries to remember if the two of them have ever simply just had a meal together, and can’t recall a time. He tells her that he cooked it himself, no house elves required, he had practiced cooking for weeks just for her.

She stares at him suspiciously. The food is quite good.

He serves her a glass of wine, and she frowns deeply.

“What are you doing?” she asks quietly. “You cooked for me and now we’re having drinks and small talk. Is this -  _ a date _ ? Honestly, Malfoy.”

He shrugs, a ghost of a smile on his face. “So what if it is? I can’t very well take you on a date after you’re married. Weasley would be obligated to beat me up. Keep in mind - this is a proper date. I’m going to seduce you after you finish your wine and we’ll have a nice romantic shag.”

The wedding is one week away.

She downs her wine and looks at him challengingly. “Very well then. Seduce me.”

He takes her hand and leads her upstairs to his room.  _ To his bed _ . When he kisses her, it’s commanding but gentle, and his movements are slower than usual. He cups her cheek and stares at her for a moment.

It’s too much, so she leans forward and tries to aggressively bring his lips to hers, but he pulls back.

“Not like that. Not tonight. Tonight - tonight we’re doing this differently.”

He lifts her shirt up and kisses her again. His tongue slips into her mouth, not battling her own like she is used to, but it is more like a dance. One hand gently caresses her breast, rubbing the nub to a peak, and the other traces patterns onto her stomach as they fall down on the bed together.

Runes, she thinks.  _ Love. Soul. Possession. _

_ “Mine,” _ he explains in a whisper, breath heavy against her ear.

When his fingers gently brush against her clit and his mouth moves to her breast, she shudders and almost wants to cry. He is going to make love to her in his bed, and her wedding is  _ one week away _ .

The years of hasty, angry fucking have all led to this moment. She absently notes that this is the first time they have been fully naked together, and when he sinks into her they both gasp.

He rests his forehead against hers as he starts to move, slowly but deeply, and he presses his lips to hers. They quickly find a pattern, and she raises her hips to hers and their breath mingles together and she feels like she’s home and it’s  _ magic _ .

“Don’t marry him,” he whispers. “Don’t do this to yourself. You don’t deserve it, you can let yourself be happy if you want.”

She can feel a tear leak out of her eye as she grasps his waist and tries to pull him as close as she possibly can.

“You should be with  _ me _ . You’re  _ mine _ ,” he whispers, moving faster and kissing her harder and she gasps into his mouth. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” she whispers.

“Whose?”

“I’m  _ yours _ , Draco.”

He grunts and thrusts again. “You’re  _ mine _ . I love you. I love you and you’re  _ mine- _ ”

She shudders beneath him with a cry and he groans, kissing her deeply as they come together and fall apart in momentary oblivion.

He stays inside her as they catch their breath, gazing earnestly into her eyes. “Stay with me tonight. Don’t go back to him. Please?”

“...Okay.”

She falls asleep wrapped in his arms, and she wishes that things could be this way forever.

When she wakes up terrified in the middle of the night with a cry, he holds her heavily, comfortingly. “It’s okay, you’re safe,” he whispers soothingly into her ear, and for the first time in years she manages to slowly ease back into sleep.

It feels too much like a dream, but it’s a good dream, and she hasn’t had one of those in far too long. She leaves before dawn while he is still asleep and doesn’t think he’ll be surprised to awaken to an empty bed.

She hopes Ron is asleep when she gets home as she wonders how long it will take to pack her things and rush back to the Manor and run away from everything together.

Being held in his arms had felt  _ right _ .

When she gets home, Ron’s face relaxes in relief, but his eyes are hard.

“You’re okay,” he observes, rushing forward to take her in a hug. “Thank goodness. What  _ happened _ ? Was it Zabini? Are you alright?”

She narrows her eyes and lightly pushes him away. “Zabini?”

“You didn’t even know?? He escaped from prison tonight - I was so worried, Hermione, we had an entire squad out looking for you. We’ll need to get an auror detail here for protection.”

“No, it wasn’t anything like that.”

“Thank goodness. But - well, what happened then?

“I - fell asleep,” she answers lamely, mind racing. Zabini might go after Draco - she’ll need to make sure he has some warning. And - a protection detail! That might complicate everything.

“You...fell asleep. At the office?”

She shrugs.

“Your secretary said your last meeting was with Malfoy…”

His voice trails off and she stays silent.

He narrows his eyes at her. “Hermione…” he starts hesitantly. “Look, I have to ask - I’m sorry - but - Malfoy...did you and Malfoy…?”

He doesn’t need to voice the question, she sets her face tightly and knows he has his answer and she braces for the impact.

“You fucked him.”

It’s not a question, but she nods.

“Why him?”

“I don’t know,” she whispers.

“You hate him!”

She doesn’t answer.

“You  _ do _ hate him, right?”

She doesn’t answer.

“Tell me, Hermione! Why him?” he growls, but she wishes he was even angrier at her because she has been betraying him for years she deserves his wrath.

“Because he’s everything you’re not!” she snaps, and something inside her cries in relief at having her dark thoughts finally spoken aloud.

He stares at her slack jawed for a moment. “He - I,” he sputters. “You’re  _ drunk _ , aren’t you? You’re nasty when you’re drunk, you know.”

“I’m nasty when I’m sober too, you just haven’t noticed. I - look, I’ll just go, okay?”

“No, no, you’re not going, it’s too dangerous. It’s - fine. It’s okay. We can get through this.”

She stills and gapes at him.

“He tricked you, didn’t he? If he comes near you again I’ll kill him, I promise you.”

“ _ No,  _ he didn’t trick me-”

“It was one time, right? It was just a mistake.”

“Ron-” her voice breaks.

“It was  _ just a mistake _ ,” he insists. “We’ll be fine.”

“ _ Ron _ -!”

“We’ll be  _ fine _ , Hermione. I forgive you.”

She stares at him for a moment in stunned silence. “Ron...you can’t trust me. How can you trust me? I’ll do it again, I promise you.”

“I trust you because I  _ love you _ ,” he insists earnestly. “And you won’t do it again because we’ll be  _ married _ soon. We’ll take a trip, yeah? A honeymoon. We’ll get away from it all, it’ll just be the two of us, and you won’t drink so much and everything will be  _ fine _ .”

It sounds so naive and she doesn’t deserve any forgiveness for what she has done to him and she takes a shuddering breath. He should be  _ furious _ at her. He steps forward to collect her in an embrace as her dream of him yelling at her and calling the wedding off and finding himself a nice woman who will treat him right abruptly vanishes.

“You can’t trust me,” she whispers again against his chest.

“I love you,” he whispers back. “You forgave me, and I forgive you. We’ll be married soon. Everything will be fine, and I’ll kill him if he comes near you again.”

________________

She is kept nearly on lockdown in the week leading up to the wedding. She can hardly leave her flat without being accompanied by an auror (for her  _ protection _ ), and she doesn’t dare risk contacting Draco. Certainly not after the threats from Ron and Molly, and she does not quite trust the intentions of the aurors protecting her - the aurors who work with Ron.

On Friday evening, she wonders if he is sitting at the pub waiting for her, ready to try one final time to convince her to run away with him.

She has a strange version of the usual nightmare the night before the wedding. She is in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor. Bellatrix is above her but has red hair, and she is spewing vile and curses and it  _ hurts _ and she can’t escape, and Draco is there watching, sadness in his eyes. When she turns back to her torturer, Molly casts the Cruciatus Curse on her again, wracking her body with pain, and when it’s over it is Ron who is looming over her, coldly watching her body twitch, and he turns to Draco and casts the killing curse-

She gasps awake with a strangled cry, muscles spasming painfully, and all she wants is his arms around her but all she has is the heavy thudding of her heart.

Molly sits by her, taking her hand with a happy smile before the wedding as they watch the aurors cast protection spells and wards, and her heart sinks.

The ceremony goes smoothly, and when she looks out into the crowd and sees the smiling faces (some friends, some schoolmates, many strangers, all with glowing faces) she feels a little bit like a martyr, sacrificing her own happiness at the literal altar.

She goes through the motions like a ghost.

She sees him from across the room after the ceremony. He’s glamoured, but she  _ knows him _ and can tell it’s him. She makes her way towards the loo, knowing he’ll follow. He had been invited to the wedding, of course, before Ron knew the truth, but she hadn’t expected him to actually come, let alone be able to enter. Perhaps she should have known better.

He follows her in and locks the door behind them. His gaze is hard as he removes his disguise.

She sighs heavily and her heart aches. “I’d have thought they would have set the wards to not let you in.”

“They did,” he scoffs angrily. “You know, they always said you were so smart, Granger, but I’ve said it before and now I’m rather convinced that you are, in fact, an idiot.”

“That’s Weasley, now, not Granger anymore.”

“You’re an idiot,  _ Hermione _ ,” he snaps. “You’re a damn fool. I can’t believe you really went through with it.”

“I know,” she says sadly, and she can hear her voice quiver.

“You don’t love him.”

“I know.”

“I love you.”

“I know.”

“You love me?”

She nods and a tear escapes her eye and she notes that she’ll have to fix her makeup for the pictures.

He grabs her wrist gently and reaches a hand up to her face to wipe the tear away. “Tell me,” he whispers.

“I love you,” she whispers. “But you can’t be here.”

He scoffs at her, grasp tightening on her wrist. “What - a stupid ceremony, and suddenly we’re over? It means  _ nothing _ to you. Say the word, Hermione, and I will drag you out of here and we can  _ escape  _ and the rest of the world can hang.”

“You have to go,” she insists, clenching her fists in his dress robes and not wanting to let him leave. “They’ll kill you.”

“Weasley?” he scoffs. “I’d like to see him try.”

“Try  _ all _ the Weasleys, and there’s nearly an army’s worth of aurors here. We can’t apparate, we can’t run - any minute now someone will burst through this door to look for me. They’ll catch us here. You shouldn’t have come and you have to go.”

“Not without you,” he breathes heavily into her ear and he leans forward and kisses her desperately.

“Draco, please-” she gasps against his lips before kissing him back just as desperately, because this might really be the last time.

“Shut up.” He reaches under her dress and yanks her knickers down in a hurry.

He presses her against the wall and just like their first time, she feels his hands on her hips and the wall feels rough and he is  _ angry _ and aggressive and she is desperate for oblivion. He bunches her plain white dress up at her waist and when he enters her swiftly she wants to cry.

He pauses and looks at her, eyes intense and angry and  _ loving _ and she presses her mouth to his again as he holds her.

“You should have stayed with me that night. You should have stayed in my bed.”

“I know,” she breathes with a gasp.

“You wouldn’t be here if you’d have just  _ stayed _ .”

“I know.”

“You should be with  _ me _ .”

“You have to leave,” she whispers frantically between desperate kisses, meeting his thrusts and never wanting to let him go. “They’ll kill you.”

“You think that scares me? I’m not afraid,” he whispers, bringing his forehead to hers and moving faster and faster. “I’m not afraid to die.”

“Oh god-” she cries when he touches her in the way he knows makes her fall apart. “ _ Draco _ .”

“I’m not leaving without you. You’re  _ mine _ , Hermione, and we’ll  _ never _ be over,” he growls and grunts and comes hard inside her and she feels his tears on her face.

She is shaking in the aftermath, and she can’t stop her mind from trying to analyze the logistics of making an escape. It could never work, not now, not here. But - someday, maybe. “ _ Go _ ,” she whispers. “Please go. Stay away from the Weasleys and watch out for Zabini.  _ Stay alive _ . But - come back for me.”

He stares into her eyes dangerously. “You’re crazy, you know that? I’ll never let you go. I’ll storm the damn Weasley’s house by myself. All the fucking wards in the world won’t be able to keep me from you, and they can try to kill me all they want, but I will take you with me and we’ll  _ be free _ .”

“You’d better,” she whispers with a final kiss. “One day. But now you have to  _ go _ .”

His lips sear his promise into her, and he departs with a desperate look in his eyes and she can feel her heart shattering into millions of tiny pieces.

She catches a glance at herself in the mirror. Her hair is frazzled from his grasp, her makeup is smudged, and her dress is askew. 

She walks out the door without fixing a thing.

When Molly sees her, her eyes narrow darkly before she casually reaches for her wand, scanning the room intently.

Ron beams at her when she approaches, but his smile quickly fades as he takes in her appearance.

When he pales and she sees his jaw clench at the thought that she couldn’t even wait for half an hour after marrying him to act upon her promised sin, she smiles.

________________

For weeks after the wedding, she is rarely out of sight of at least one Weasley. One of them always takes her to lunch. Ron escorts her back to the Burrow at the end of the day. Ginny (almost sympathetically, but not quite) accompanies her for tea. She’s largely forbidden from alcohol and certainly from going to pubs by herself. Molly watches her so intently that she thinks she might whither away under that gaze.

When it’s not the Weasley clan, it's the protection team of aurors monitoring her and reporting her every move to her husband. Sneaking away to apparate has been impossible so far, but she stays alert for the opportunity to present itself.

It’s a well guarded prison, and she’s trapped, and she used to think that she deserved to suffer through this but with every day that passes she is not so sure.

Soon enough, her protectors agree that despite her protests, she should stay home from work - going to the office is just too dangerous with a murderer on the loose, isn’t it? After all, he had already gotten to her once before.

They rarely even let her alone with Harry, although he knowingly tries to smuggle her some information about Draco (he is largely holed up in the Manor, he may have been spotted with his mother at a quidditch game the other day, he is alive and being cautious and staying  _ safe _ ), but the updates are few and far between.

She keeps a small travel bag packed, ready to escape at a moment’s notice. She shrinks it and stores it under the bed. When Ron finds it, he does not confront her but he unpacks everything back where it belongs. She packs again and finds a new hiding spot.

He finds it again, and the cycle continues.

“This is how it’s supposed to be,” insists a smiling Molly over dinner one evening. “One big happy family.”

Even Ron shifts uncomfortably next to her.

Ron stops trying to make love after several frustrating rejections. He glares at her and stews in silence. She can hardly bring herself to feel badly for him anymore - he had every chance to spare them both the misery, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Then again, neither had she.

One night when she tries to leave the Burrow by herself - just to go for a walk, not to  _ escape _ \- she finds that the wards shimmer brightly and won’t let her pass.

“It’s for your own protection, darling,” insists Molly. “They still haven’t caught Zabini, you know. It’s not safe out there.”

_ All the fucking wards in the world won’t be able to keep me from you _ , he had said to her their last time together.

She thinks that the only time she has been happy since the war was once, briefly, in Draco’s arms while he made love to her, and she wonders why she had thought she didn’t deserve happiness.

With every day that passes, she starts to think that she might deserve it, maybe, after all.

She keeps packing her escape bag and studying the wards and she tries her best to sleep and gather her energy, because she thinks she’ll need it. If he doesn’t come for her soon, then maybe after a while she’ll manage to convince herself that she really  _ should _ be happy and she’ll escape herself. She’s smart enough, she can figure it out. Once she’s free, she’ll find him and they’ll run away together like they should have done so long ago.

She gazes out the window and waits.

_ You’re mine, Hermione, _ he says in her dreams.  _ And we’ll never be over. _

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Wow. This is my first HP fic ever, and the first of anything I've written in over 10 years. Go figure that it's the not-cute kind of porn! It was supposed to be some cute public bathroom smut, then it morphed into some fun prison porn, and suddenly it was 35 pages of Hermione and Draco being unable to stop boning each other like jerks!  
> Hope you enjoyed, thanks for reading!


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